“From the Third Army or Second?” Abra asked, leaning forward.
“The Second cannot be recalled in time,” Bordan replied. “Their campaign on the southern continent continues and our borders are strengthened by their presence there. We will do our utmost to keep the news from them until their own battles are won. Morale is as important as sharp swords to an army.”
Which Abra knew, Bordan thought. The man who controlled the seas and the ships had a good deal more knowledge of the Army’s movements than was comfortable. He shook his head, clearing away the worries for another day.
“The Third then?” Abra pushed.
“Yes,” Bordan acknowledged.
“It is my understanding that the Third Army is our reserve,” Abra said, looking along the table to Bordan, his nostrils flaring a little on each breath. “Made up of our youngest and oldest soldiers.”
“Our recruits with veterans to lead them,” Bordan corrected, snapping the words off like thin icicles in the depth of winter.
“But they are spread about the Empire?”
“At present,” Bordan said, “better to protect against outlaws and give confidence to the people.”
“And you’ve enough to spare,” Abra continued, “to send north to meet the honour guard?”
“I cannot foresee a problem,” Bordan answered, though in truth he had dreamed of nothing but problems last night.
The Third Army was an army in name only. Under the command of Legion Maxentius, it was broken into small forces which patrolled the borders, and were stationed in towns and forts far from the capital. The city itself had force enough to defend itself, but to march it north would strip that safety away and the worry gnawing away at Bordan’s innards told him he would need that force before long.
“Perhaps we should speak first of the coronation, High Priest. Could you reacquaint us with the ceremonies and rituals so that we might plan and ensure a smooth transition from one beloved Emperor to the next?”
VIII
The Magician
Ten years ago:
He watched the old man close the door, and then he was alone. Wiping his eyes free of the stinging tears, he saw the room was bigger than his old one. Sitting on the bed, silence crowding his thoughts, he ran his hands across the decorated headboard of embossed bronze depicting galloping deer.
“Here,” Emlyn said. “Put this in the water and bring it to the boil.”
“What is it?” Kyron plucked the twisted root from her fingers and peered at it through blurry morning eyes.
“A wicked poison,” she answered.
“What?” His fingers jerked open and the root fell towards the forest floor, but her quick hands snatched it from the air.
“You don’t think and have no sense of humour,” she said, shaking her head and pushing past him. “We call it Asaraum. I don’t know what you call it, even if you have it. It flavours our tea and gives energy for the day ahead.”
She dropped it in the boiling pan of water before he could reply or move to stop her.
“No.” He reached out a hand anyway, knowing it was too late, but making the effort to convince himself he had acted properly.
“Your army trust me to lead them safely through the forests and you will not even let me make tea,” Emlyn said, straightening up, then arching her back. “You seem to have no end of faults, young man.”
“I’m hardly younger than you,” he snapped back.
“It takes more than years to make someone older,” Emlyn replied. “Give the tea a few minutes to infuse.”
“Are you two arguing already?” Padarn said, stepping out of his tent into the predawn light and mist which filtered between the trees. All around, the night’s camp was coming to life and the sounds of men grumbling drifted alongside the mist.
“She is making tea, Master,” Kyron complained.
“I’m glad someone is.” Padarn stepped up to the fire and held his hands out to catch the warmth which spilled from the flames. “The weather isn’t looking good and I need something to warm me for the long march today.”
“But I don’t know what she has put in the tea,” Kyron said and lowered his voice. “It might be poison.”
Padarn snorted and glanced back at him, a wry smile on his face. “If she wanted to kill you or me, as I told you before, a knife in the night would be simplest. She could be gone from the camp before light and no one would find her. Isn’t that so?”
Emlyn smiled up at him from her seat on the ground. “They would never find me.”
“The army has excellent trackers,” Kyron said, puffing out his chest.
“Not good enough to find me,” Emlyn answered, and there was a simple honesty to the statement which deflated the young magician.
“What is in the tea, young lady?” Padarn asked, leaning over the boiling pot and sniffing.
“Asaraum.”
“Wild ginger,” Padarn nodded. “I’ve not tasted that in a long, long time. Years, at least, if not a decade.”
“You know what it is?” Emlyn’s look changed from one of victory, to one more wary and guarded.
“Travelled a bit when I was younger,” Padarn said, stepping to a log and sitting down. “Broadens the mind, and experience is the best teacher. You’d be surprised what you can learn from the simple act of sharing a meal.”
“You came to the forest?” she asked.
“Not this bit,” Padarn said, looking around. “Though, if I am honest, I can’t be too sure. One tree looks very much the same as another to me.”
“You came here before, Master?” Kyron prodded.
“I’ve been to a lot of places, Kyron. Part of the reason I agreed to accompany the army was to travel, to expose you to the world. Too much time in the capital blinds you to the world around. You have to understand it all if you want to realise your potential,” the magician said, then paused and added, “The preservation charms on the Emperor’s wrappings will need to be checked today.”
“I checked yesterday, Master,” Kyron whined. “The priests weren’t happy that I was there. The charms will be in effect for a few more days.”
“They’ll be even more unhappy if the Emperor’s body is not kept in the best condition possible,” Padarn replied. “The Empress even less so.”
“Then the priests should get the blame,” Kyron complained.
“And you know that they will not, Kyron. You can put up with the priests for a little longer,” Padarn said. “The Imperial Family are the patrons of the Gymnasium of Magic. Without the Empire’s support of our studies for the past centuries we would not even possess half the knowledge we do now. The least we can do is preserve his body, and deliver it whole and unblemished to his family.”
“How did he die?” Emlyn asked. “I’ve spoken with the officers, when they bother to talk to me, but they won’t say.”
Kyron lifted the boiling water and, holding the root back with his knife, poured the tea into three clay cups, passing them out and taking his own. The story he had heard of the Emperor’s death was full of rumour and no substance, little more than soldiers’ gossip. Assassins from the tribe had used magic to disguise themselves and sneak into the Emperor’s tent, stabbing him to death, seemed to be the story most shared. No one could agree on how many assassins there had been, nor how many the Emperor had killed with his bare hands before succumbing to their blows. Worse still, Kyron had been unable to find anyone who had seen the assassins’ bodies and no guards had been disciplined for the lapse in security.
But he knew the two master magicians had been consulted when the body was discovered, and now he leaned forward, hardly breathing, waiting to hear the truth from someone who knew.
“His heart stopped,” his master answered.
“Why?” Kyron breathed. There must be more. The Emperor was a great man who had changed the world, whose actions had expanded the Empire and brought peace and prosperity to thousands. Behind his death there would be a valiant story of a struggle. There ha
d to be. All the old stories which his grandfather had filled his head with during his youth had been full of shining heroes and dark villains. The Emperor was a hero, so there must be a villain.
“It happens,” Padarn shrugged, taking a sip of his tea and sighing in contentment. “He was an old man with a lot to think about and do. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
Kyron stared at his master, waiting for more which did not come, and a sense of emptiness flowed from his toes to the top of his head. An Emperor deserved a glorious death, a story to tell the next generation. “Is that all, Master?”
“Sometimes simple answers are the truth,” Padarn said. “Take a razor to complicated knot and it comes apart easily enough.”
IX
The General
Ten years ago:
He sat in his room, alone, and heard the heart-wrenching sobs being drawn from the boy’s small frame. In his hands he held a toy chariot. One of the wooden wheels refused to spin, the soldier had one arm missing, and the horse’s ears were broken off.
Is this who I am? he muttered to himself. Shaking his head, and placing the small toy back on the shelf, he strode to the door.
“How fares the city, General Bordan?” the Empress asked.
“Restless, your Majesty,” Bordan replied, sighing. Three late nights of reading reports from the watch and the troops deployed to keep order in the city felt like an eternity. “No rioting or particular disorder. Those in the wealthier areas of the city have begun to increase their own security.”
“Where is disorder greatest?” Alhard looked up from his plate of food, a tower of meats and slow cooked vegetables. A family of six could happily dine on that amount and consider themselves full at the end of the meal.
“In the poorer quarters, Your Highness.”
“Ride the troops through the slums and string a few up, Bordan,” Alhard said, waving his eating knife to punctuate his command. The chunk of sausage which the Prince had stabbed only moments before described a precise arc through the air and bounced on the stone floor. One of the dogs—a dark, muscled beast which Alhard favoured—scurried across the floor and gobbled it up, licking its lips in appreciation of the unintentional gift.
“A fine idea, my Prince,” Bordan said, taking care with every word and watching the Empress for clues. “I will certainly deploy the troops with those orders should the need arise.”
“Law and order are important for the city,” Alhard said, already tucking into another sausage.
Aelia stared at her brother for a moment before shaking her head. “What of the Dukes, Bordan?”
“Princess?”
“The poor are a nuisance, but surely little more. If, as my brother suggests, we feel the need to send in the soldiers to set a few examples, they will quickly give way. It is the Dukes who worry us more, is it not?”
“It is, Princess,” Bordan said, taking another look at Aelia, noting the younger woman cast a glance at her mother and the way her fingers fluttered against the table. “I’ve set some rotations to ensure that the troops within the city are from the rural areas of the Empire. Legion Maxentius, of the Third Army, is keeping a tight grip on his troops. He knows them well, and has the new recruits commanded by veterans. Both of us know that soldiers do as they are ordered, but it would be folly to order them to kill their childhood friends.”
“Well done, General,” the Empress interrupted. “However, as Princess Aelia asked, the Dukes? This news of increasing their own guards, should it worry us?”
“They have insufficient numbers, even banded together, to pose a serious risk to the troops within the walls, Your Highness.”
“And individually? We know that they will not threaten the army, General. However, should they kill you, they may be able to place someone more amenable to their aims in charge,” the Empress said.
“Then what?” Alhard said, though the words were muffled by the quantity of food which he had just stuffed in his mouth and was attempting to swallow.
“I’m guarded, Your Highness, and risk is part of a soldier’s life. There is an established chain of command should an accident befall me. Maxentius will take over my duties, as he will upon my eventual retirement,” Bordan said, shifting his shoulders under the armour he wore today. There was a small ache at the base of his spine, a sure sign that he was not used to the additional weight.
“And our safety?” Aelia said, glancing once more at her mother.
“The Immunis of your imperial guard are charged with your protection, and I’ve doubled the guard around the perimeter of your quarters,” Bordan said. “I’ve also got each of the Dukes who may think themselves a future Emperor under a close watch.”
“Do they know that?” Aelia said, pushing her plate away. Most of the food on it was untouched.
“I hope so,” he replied, allowing a smile to cross his face. “I’ve put some of my most obvious men on that duty.”
“A warning?” the Empress asked.
“That, and if the Dukes are concentrating on the obvious, they might not spot some of the informants I have placed in their households.”
“You did all this in the past three days?” Alhard looked up from his food, his knife pausing in its butchery of a lamb’s leg.
“No, my Prince,” Bordan acknowledged. “I’ve had people within their households for many years. However, they expect me to do something to keep a closer eye on their activities, so I have given them someone to watch. It confirms their suspicions and guards my true spies.”
“Clever,” Aelia said.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Bordan bowed. “If there is nothing else, I have an appointment with Duke Abra to discuss the rotation of troops to the western reaches.”
“You’re meeting with him?” Alhard said, coughing on a mouth stuffed with food.
“We need his ships to supply the army in the north and our troops elsewhere. The southern continent remains important to trade and the tax earned pays for the army,” Bordan explained, holding back a sigh. “Much as I might wish the crown had control of the seas, the merchants are more numerous and better suited than the few warships we maintain.”
“General, we should have a strong navy to protect our borders and ports,” Alhard said.
Bordan nodded and looked to the Empress. She waved a hand in permission.
“Protection from who, my Prince?” Bordan clasped his hands behind his back, constraining his usual tendency to gesture and point when teaching. His son had cautioned against it and his grandson, a wilful boy who soaked up knowledge but rarely listened, had argued with him incessantly every time. He took an extra moment to tell himself this was the next Emperor and not to be treated like an unlearned child.
“Raiders and pirates,” Alhard answered much as a child at a tutor’s knee would, with the learned and oft repeated answer.
“And the last time we were subject to such attack?” Bordan said, stepping forward.
“Well…” Alhard cast a look around the room, seeking an answer from his sister or mother. Neither were forthcoming and the man’s face screwed up in obvious thought. “I don’t know.”
“And you might argue, might you not, my Prince, that it was our navy that has brought us this peace and safety to our ports?”
“Of course,” Alhard exclaimed, latching onto the idea and almost leaping from his chair in excitement, a large smile spreading across his face.
Bordan smiled at him. The tutor’s trap had been simple and Alhard should have known better than to fall into it. Aelia would have neatly side-stepped it, Bordan knew, and he sighed. “Our fleet is more for show than anything practical. Five large warships to sail into ports, show the flag of the Empire, and thirty or so smaller vessels to secure the shipping lanes at the behest of the merchants.”
“Then why haven’t the raiders attacked?” The smile gave way to a look of confusion on Alhard’s face, one he’d seen too often before.
“Because we conquered them,” the Empress interjecte
d.
“About two centuries ago,” Bordan added, tipping his head to acknowledge the Empress’s answer. “It was from them we learned to build the smaller, faster vessels we use now. Sooner or later, every nation becomes part of the Empire.”
“And Duke Abra?” Aelia asked, when her brother fell silent, her eyes narrowing and sharpening.
“Knows this,” Bordan agreed, “as do many of the lords, Dukes and other nobles of the Empire. It is no secret.”
“Which would mean that the Duke knows how important his ships are to us?”
“Undoubtedly.” Bordan nodded. “However, by tradition and law his vessels cannot carry much in the way of defence or weaponry except in times of war, at which point they fall under the control of the military.”
“Abra knows his worth,” the Empress said in her quiet voice. “However, he understands it would take just a simple declaration to strip those ships from him.”
“And he would lose everything,” Aelia said.
“Indeed. Also, tax revenues would fall and there would be hardship for many,” Bordan agreed.
“And so we are caught,” the Empress said.
“Trapped,” Aelia said.
“To a degree,” Bordan said, “but so are they.”
“And on such devices does our Empire stand and fall,” the Empress said, her tone solemn.
“I don’t like it,” Alhard grunted. “The Dukes always want more power.”
“Would some dream of being Emperor?” Aelia took a sip from her goblet and Bordan saw the Princess’s eyes go distant for a moment.
“It is not unheard of,” Bordan said.
“I’m the next Emperor by birth, tradition, and my father’s decree.” Alhard slammed his open palm down upon the table causing the plates and goblets to jump and rattle. “They cannot take that from me.”
“They will not, Prince Alhard.” Bordan looked to the Empress for support but received only a small shake of her head. “But it is no secret that they wish to have more of a say in how the Empire is run.”
“Filthy ingrates,” Alhard spat, tossing the eating knife he held onto the table where it slid for a distance before coming to rest against a haunch of steaming meat. “They want to take our power. Who, General? Which ones? Abra, Primal or more of them?”
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